


Domestic Reality

by LaDemonessa



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDemonessa/pseuds/LaDemonessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a foray into fluff based on some Tumblr prompts on 'Domestic Olicity'.</p><p>First Up: Tommy the Escape Artist</p><p>Felicity and the kids are down with a meta-induced stomach flu when Oliver comes home from an out-of-town conference. Consider this a reality check on domesticated Olicity. ;p</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Reality

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've been on hiatus with my monsters but I am working on them. However, I needed a pick me up, something not sad or angst-ridden to the point of 'hide the sharp objects'.
> 
> BTW, this is kind of a dark fandom. Considering how many requests I get for fluff, you'd think you guys would be a little less cancer/death/misery.
> 
> In any case, I don't do fluff often but this first bit is based on two things; a prompt by Olivrsfelicity who wrote the following post:
> 
> thomas harper queen is the only name i’ll accept for oliver and felicity’s baby boy  
> #olicity headcanon#olicity
> 
> And a series I wrote twenty years ago called The Honeymoon's Over.
> 
> I'm calling it a one-shot on the off chance I don't get back to it but, when the mood strikes, I may add more, who knows?
> 
> In any case, enjoy.
> 
> \---Jen

> **Tommy The Escape Artist**
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> **_Based in the following Tumblr post by Olivrsfelicity:_ **
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> thomas harper queen is the only name i’ll accept for oliver and felicity’s baby boy
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> _#olicity headcanon#olicity_
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> “Hey Felicity! Where’s Tommy?”
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> Felicity awoke with a start, her eyes puffy from sleep and her skin sticky from sweat along with various other odious substances, not the least of which were two day old BO, spilled formula, juice, baby food, and the stuff that came out of the baby after you fed it.
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> “Wha--?” she slurred, running her hand through her hair that was both oily and dry at the same time and wincing as her fingers pulled at a sticky clump that produced a single Cheerio. She tossed it in her mouth with a shrug, slightly disgusted at herself for doing so, but it was the closest thing she’d had to a meal in almost two days.
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> “Tommy,” Oliver said, coming into the living room and putting his suitcases on the floor next to the fireplace. “Is he at…” he looked at her and did a double-take. “Oh. What…what happened?” he asked carefully.
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> “Our nanny has the stomach flu,” she said hoarsely. “And being the kind soul she is, she gave it to our kids who then gave it to me.”
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> “Why didn’t the agency send a replacement or why didn’t you ask Thea to help out?” he said with a sympathetic wince as he came closer.
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> “Because the flu apparently has everybody down this week—and I mean everybody. Even QI’s daycare had to shut down since kids have 300% more germs than adults. Did you know that?” she asked with a frown. “Seriously, 300%. Little germ factories,” she said darkly. “In the meantime, because of this flu epidemic, which isn’t really a ‘flu’ epidemic but some kind of metahuman based virus so you can’t actually cure it with a shot--"
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> Oliver's eyes narrowed in confusion, "Metahuman--?"
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> However, Felicity had a limited amount of talk time as her voice was growing more hoarse by the second so she plowed right on ahead, "--QI is being run by temps, my EA is now basically the CEO, your sister said she wouldn’t come near our house even if she was armed with crosses and holy water after Tommy projectile vomited all over her shoes, and Mia is teething so screw you and your sperm,” she said with unaccustomed vulgarity. “On top of everything else, since you asked, Curtis suspects that this sudden rash of viral ‘epidemics’ is being caused by some kind of meta-human who wants to cripple the city so he can basically steal whatever he wants while the rest of us are hunched over the toilet in agony so he and everybody at Star Labs is busy with that.” She glared at him once more, “You would choose to go out of town on a conference during hell week, wouldn’t you?”
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> “Why didn’t you call me?” he asked as he walked over to lay his hand on her sweaty forehead before pressing his blessedly cool palms on her cheeks causing her to moan from the relief it gave her. “I would’ve come straight home.”
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> “We’re handling it, or rather I was handling it,” she corrected in a miserable tone, because that's how she felt; miserable. “The virus didn’t really hit me until last night and the kids are almost through it so there was no need to call you. Caitlyn says this strain of the 'metavirus' isn't dangerous," she rolled her eyes at that. Only a woman who didn't have kids could say something like that with a straight face, "and only lasts three days or so, but I thought about it, believe me.” She coughed, her throat irritated and husky from her multiple trips to the porcelain god. She took a sip of juice from the nearest thing she could grab which happened to be Tommy's sippy cup before continuing, “Oh, and in related news, Tommy learned how to take off his own diaper while you were gone and, trust me, toddlers who like to be naked and the stomach flu are not a good combination, especially when said toddler went from walking, straight to running, and hates his potty chair with a passion.” She gave him a pitiful look, “By the way, we need a new bed because we’re going to have to burn the old one.”
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> “Do I want to know?” he asked with an expression that fell somewhere between disgust and amusement.
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> “You know how needy and cuddly Tommy gets when he’s sick?” Oliver nodded, “He decided to crawl into our bed last night and, let’s just say, things happened that should never happen to 1500 threadcount sheets.”
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> He winced, “Did you strip the bed?”
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> “Are you kidding me?” she asked irritably. “I was too busy hosing down your kid to strip the bed and then I had to take care of Mia because Tommy’s yelling woke her up. By the time everyone was settled into their own beds, I said ‘screw it’ and collapsed on the couch. It’s been days and days of nothing but screaming kids and poop around here.”
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> “So where’s Tommy?” he asked again, avoiding her last statement like the plague.
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> ...'Plague' being the appropriate term for what he'd come home to, anyway.
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> “I don’t know,” she said honestly, “Probably still asleep.”
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> “It’s like two o’clock in the afternoon,” he told her.
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> “Really?” she frowned then shrugged, “Look, things like circadian rhythms and basic hygiene stopped being relevant in this house days ago. We were up most of the night so he’s probably still sleeping off the trauma of me stripping the poop off his skin with a duckie washcloth.” Her lips screwed up in disgust once more, “You know, I went to MIT, I’m a CEO; how the word ‘poop’ became a regular part of my vocabulary I have no idea.”
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> “I’ll go check on him,” he said before placing a tender kiss on her forehead.
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> “You do that; have fun,” she said falling over in a heap.
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> He nodded and went towards the nursery, emerging a few minutes later with a grumpy looking Mia in his arms and a frown on his face, “Tommy’s not in his toddler bed.”
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> “Did you check the closet?” she asked, her face buried in a throw pillow. “Also, check the dresser. He started doing this thing where he takes out all his clothes and tries to shut himself in there like he’s Harry Houdini or something,” she looked up at him, “By the way, your kid is weird.”
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> “Uh, he’s both ours; that is just as much your fault as it is mine,” he corrected her. “And, yes, I checked the closet and the drawers. I found out about that trick a week ago when I found him in our sock drawer.”
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> “Oh God, please don’t be in our bed or anywhere near my clean clothes,” she whined into the couch cushions, “If I have any clean clothes. I’m pretty sure that everything I own is now covered in handprint shaped stains and formula puke.”
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> Oliver helped her sit up before handing her the baby, “You watch Mia while I go check on Tommy and do something about the bed. Do you need me to fix a bottle for the baby after I hose down our other kid?”
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> “Yeah,” she said bouncing the whining little girl in her lap half-heartedly. “No formula though, not until her fever breaks and her stomach calms down. The pediatrician said to stick to Pedialyte and plain rice cereal since the formula just comes right back up and, as long as I’m taking cold medicine, he doesn’t want me to give her breast milk.” She paused, “Besides, she’d just puke that back up, too.” She gave him a pitiful look, “I don’t even remember the last time I had a bath and I feel like a human toilet. I think I’d rather face Slade again than deal with our kids having the meta-flu or whatever this crap is.”
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> He cringed in sympathy, “Okay, let me go take care of Tommy, get out of my suit and into something that I don’t mind burning later, and then you can take a bath.”
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> “What about the kids?” she asked, slumping over again with Mia’s own hot and sweaty body cradled on her chest.
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> “I can handle the kids,” he promised, already halfway up the stairs to check on their son.
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> “Good,” she mumbled, patting a now drowsy Mia absently. “Daddy can handle it because mommy intends to fall into a coma and die.”
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> Less than a minute later, she heard Oliver’s slightly panicked tone from the upstairs landing, “Tommy’s not in here.”
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> That woke her up, “What do you mean, he’s not in there?” she demanded, sitting up abruptly causing her head and Mia to protest the rough motion.
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> “He’s not in our room,” he said shakily as he bounded down the stairs and headed for the kitchen, “Back door’s wide open!” he called out.
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> “Shit! I mean...poop!” she said getting up and hurrying outside.
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> Tommy was a little escape artist, the kid was unbelievable. No matter how many child proof locks they bought or how hard they made it for him to escape, he always seemed to slip past them. Finally, they resorted to putting sliders and chains on all the doors way up high, so high even Felicity had to get a stepstool to unbolt them, in the hopes to stop him from wandering outside on his own. It worked though.
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> Until now apparently.
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> “How did he--?” she began then stopped as she saw the kitchen chair sitting against the doorframe. On top of the chair was Tommy’s much loathed potty chair, and stacked on top of that was a shaky collection of toys that included a jack in the box, his Playskool Animal Friends Barn, and a set of Mia’s oversized blocks. “Are you kidding me?”
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> “You keep calling him my kid but, I’ve got news for you, he inherited your brains and, apparently, my sense of balance,” Oliver said wryly as he emerged from the outside with his mud covered naked Mini-Me. “Found him in the garden.”
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> “Take bat, mama!” Tommy announced happily, his once golden curls plastered to his forehead and caked with mud.
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> Oliver offered him a wry grimace, “He apparently decided he didn’t like the bath you gave him so he gave himself one in a mud puddle. And then he took a nap in one of the flowerbeds. By the way, we need to pick up more azaleas.”
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> “Tommy bat in duh owside!” Tommy agreed.
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> Felicity took one look at him and let out a defeated whimper.
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> “I’ll handle it,” Oliver promised. “I’ll go give him a bath real quick then take Mia so you can have a bath of your own and then make up the bed for you.”
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> “No more bat!” Tommy glowered at him.
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> Oliver’s eyebrows drew together at that as he looked at his son, shaking his head, “Why you’re okay with rolling around in ice cold mud puddles but have a temper tantrum when we try to give you a warm bath in clean water is beyond me.”
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> “No bat, dada!” the little boy repeated firmly. “I no take bat!”
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> “Yes, bath!” Oliver said with matching vehemence causing the little boy to burst into tears of protest. He sighed and rolled his eyes, “You go lay back down on the couch and I’ll come get you in a minute,” he said over the dramatic howls of their two year old.
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> Felicity, too tired and sick to even give a crap by that point, just nodded before stumbling back to the couch.
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> As Tommy’s screams echoed around them until Oliver muffled them by the shutting the downstairs bathroom door, Felicity glanced at the half-asleep baby on her chest, “I know your daddy wanted a big family but, got news for you kid, unless male pregnancy becomes a thing, no more siblings for you.”
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End file.
